


End Results

by Krizlynn



Category: One Piece
Genre: Action, Angst, Apologies, Arguments, Canon, Fighting, Fluff, Hugging, M/M, Post-Timeskip Spoilers, Romance, They don’t know they’re in love yet, Violence, Who confesses first? Well..., confessions!, is this even angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 08:24:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krizlynn/pseuds/Krizlynn
Summary: Sanji and Zoro fight all the time, but why does Zoro feel that after this fight, they might actually hate each other for good?It doesn’t sit right with him.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 21
Kudos: 293





	End Results

**Author's Note:**

> I spent... Way too much time on this. As usual I’m still relatively new to writing Zosan and One Piece fics, so be kind if I mess up some  
minute detail aight aight thanks. This is post-timeskip! As you will be able to tell further on in the story. Thank you for clicking on this story!

It happened so quickly that Zoro couldn’t even react. 

One second Nami was behind him, and the next—she wasn’t. 

They docked at a beautiful island earlier that day, the land surrounded by soft sand which led to wispy palm trees, growing into forests which preceded mountains. Nami mentioned as they threw the anchor down that it’d take five days for the log pose to set. That fact didn’t matter to most, as the lot of them had good vibes about the place, the hustle and bustle on the ship turning into questions about who would be guarding The Thousand Sunny and who would be going exploring. They each pulled out of 8 strips of paper—8 because Luffy didn’t join as he was already off the ship running further into land. Zoro didn’t really care where he ended up, as he was going to take a nap either way, whether it be on the boat or in a large tree somewhere. 

Zoro had picked one without red paint, as well as Usopp, Franky, Chopper, Brook, and Nami. The ones staying back were Sanji and Robin. Usopp was claiming that he’d defeat the boss of the island with shaking legs, and Nami was already equipped with pen and ink to draw. He remembered rolling his eyes when Sanji exclaimed his gratitude to the gods for letting him stay back with Robin, and then he had hopped off the boat, already making his way to the forest. 

“Zoro, wait!” he heard the witch call, and the swordsman let out a “huh?”, turning with an expressionless look on his face and watching as Nami and Usopp jumped off the boat seconds after. 

“You might as well make sure I don’t get attacked while I’m drawing,” Nami said, heels digging into the soft sand under her. 

“You don’t think there are monsters here, do you?” Usopp asked, wary eyes searching the shrubbery that lied a ways away. “N-Not that I’m scared or something, I’m actually hunting for them!” 

“I thought you were going to take on the boss,” Zoro stated, and Usopp laughed nervously. 

“You never know the dangers that could be out there!” 

When Zoro turned back with a loud yawn to start walking again, he realized that he’d apparently adopted two of his crew members on his trip to find a good tree to sleep in. He vaguely registered Chopper asking Franky and Brook to help him look for good herbs as the three set off in the opposite direction. 

A few minutes later found Zoro’s group in the middle of thick trees, the only thing visible other than green being the large mountain’s tip up ahead. 

“Did you hear that?!” Usopp suddenly exclaimed and Nami yelped at his loud voice, the two of them clutching onto Zoro’s back when a rustle sounded from next to them. 

A bunny hopped out of the bush. Typical. Nami gave Usopp a good whack for scaring her.

“‘You sure you don’t wanna be back on the boat?” Zoro questioned as he turned, and Usopp shook his head vehemently. Nami at least had the honesty to look as if she was thinking about it. “Ah—I think I can sense monsters up ahead.” 

“Monsters? What? Where?” Usopp immediately grabbed his weapon and Zoro just stared at him until the long-nosed man sighed exasperatedly, “Of course you were joking! I knew that.” 

He _was_ just messing with Usopp, and it was evidently so because he couldn’t feel any dangerous presence whatsoever—at least not on this island. He was positive that there was nothing Usopp and Nami would actually need to worry about, unless they freaked out at things like hogs and bugs. 

“Well, let’s keep going then!” Usopp exclaimed, and then he made his way in front of Zoro, acting as if he was leading the pact with his slingshot held in front of him like a pointer. 

Zoro decided to indulge in Usopp’s desire to be the leader, trailing behind the man as he continued to observe their surroundings. It really did seem like a peaceful island—a vacation island, almost. He remembered the beach looking like the representation of “time away”. It wouldn’t have been a bad idea to just sleep on the soft sand, but it was too late for that now. 

They walked a bit more, Usopp having stopped chattering and allowing Zoro the silence to listen in detail to the sounds of the island. He could hear birds chirping away; Usopp and his boots crunching leaves as Nami’s heels clicked every now and then on the overgrown cobblestone pathway. The little whistles of wind when nature twisted it in just the right way made Zoro feel calm.

It only took a second for one of those sounds to disappear. 

He whipped around when Kitetsu showed a reaction, feeling a large sense of dread wash over him when he realized his ears weren’t tricking him—Nami’s footsteps couldn’t be heard anymore because she was  gone . 

Like mist in the air, all traces of her disappeared. 

“Usopp!” Zoro yelled, one hand gripped on his sword as the sniper ran up to Zoro’s side, confused but seeming to realize that something was wrong. 

“Nami?!” Usopp called, and Zoro strained his observation haki to try and find his crewmate, his one eye glancing at every dark spot in the forest. 

Something pricked his senses when he looked to the left, and then he was off, feet pushing him as fast as he could go. As he ran past the first tree he yelled to Usopp: “Call the others!” 

He unsheathed two of his swords as he jumped over roots and propelled himself against fallen logs, faintly making out a shadow that blinked in and out of the trees ahead of him. All the while his mind was going wild with thoughts, wondering why he couldn’t sense the captor’s presence and how the person had gotten so close as to even grab Nami without him noticing. They were also incredibly fast, keeping up with Zoro’s speed even if he knew he was nearly inhuman. Sweat started to form on the back of Zoro’s neck when for the first time in forever, he felt a feeling of anxiety grow in his gut. He trusted his crewmates any other day—knew they could get out of a pinch themselves, but with this unsettling feeling he couldn’t help but try his hardest to catch up to Nami. 

It was the same feeling he had received at Sabaody, when they were all cornered with nowhere to go. 

He predicted where the shadow would go next, slicing through the air and hitting the tree the person would have landed on. He would have aimed at the shadow itself, but he didn’t know what part of that was Nami. 

The tree fell over and caused a bunch of birds to disperse, the sound of flapping wings invading Zoro’s hearing. The shadow disappeared and Zoro pushed through the shrubbery he’d last seen it, realizing with the blinding light that he’d made it to a clearing. 

There the person was, standing in the middle with Nami over their shoulder. They were cloaked from head to toe in a dark garment, and Zoro saw with a feeling of relief that Nami was still struggling against the captor’s hold. She had some sort of cloth wrapped around her head to cover her mouth, and her limbs were littered with scratches, undoubtedly from the frantic chase to this clearing. The worst part wasn’t that Nami was injured, but that the cloaked figure was seemingly copy and pasted twenty times, all surrounding Zoro now. It was a trap. 

The cloaked figure in front of him suddenly moved, and the arm opposite to the arm holding Nami lifted, the glint of a small dagger shining in the sun. Zoro realized that the person had been holding it this whole time. 

He clenched his teeth, digging his feet into the ground to prepare himself. 

He could try to wait for the rest of the crew to show up. Sanji would kick their asses. Robin would snap their necks and Franky would blow their heads away. Luffy would unquestionably beat them and beat them a hundred times over. 

But what if they didn’t get there fast enough and Nami ended up dead? 

He made the decision then and there that he’d rather Nami get stabbed once and saved than be killed if he couldn’t act fast enough. 

Zoro jumped before even his mind could register what move he was going to do, going by instincts alone as he charged in the air towards Nami’s captor. He watched almost in slow-mo as the dagger in the air met with Nami’s side, a muffled scream leaving his crew mates lips seconds before Zoro slashed through both the person’s arm and torso. An arm fell on the ground with a thud and Nami followed it to floor, landing in a heap just before the shadowed person fell. 

Of course, it wasn’t as easy as that. With the same speed that Zoro had seen the first shadow figure move, the ones around him had closed in on him. He felt multiple daggers slide through his haramaki and pierce his skin as if he was being caged in by knives—and though it was a setback, pain was something he was always going to take as consequence. He couldn’t waste any second on it, swords doing a 180 to turn and cut through every head, even if that made the daggers in his torso slide and cause more damage. He jumped backwards and over Nami’s body, just to get the momentum to fly right back in. The rest of the fight passed in a blur of limbs and blood, his own meshing in with the mix. The whole time he felt something poke at the back of his mind; the fact that Nami hadn’t tried to stand up yet, and that she’d most likely passed out.

The last person standing got their torso sliced clean off, and Zoro glanced around to make sure they were all either dead or on their way there, sheathing his swords once he was positive of it. He made his way to Nami, stumbling on the leg of one of the dead, more focused on the damage that could’ve been caused to their navigator. In every fight, he could care less about his own injuries, always more worried about everyone else’s.

He was now close enough to see that the dagger was still wedged in Nami’s side, and she’d thankfully not lost as much blood as Zoro thought she had. Just as he fell to his knees to try and pick up Nami, that action alone sending a burning spike of pain throughout his body, he heard footsteps approaching. 

He quickly turned and put a hand back on his swords, watching the bushes closely. 

Sanji emerged before anyone else, panting, and he stopped dead in his tracks. The cook took in the bloody scene with a look that conveyed everything synonymous to horror. It reminded Zoro of a particular time in Thriller Bark, but he was interrupted from his memories when Sanji yelled.

“Nami!” 

-

“...Dark cloaks...They’re a clan who...” 

Zoro furrows his eyebrows as he slowly wakes from his nap, blinking his eyes to try and adjust to the bright light. The skin under his bandages itch and he’s tempted to scratch at them, but remembers what Chopper had said an hour ago, the little doctor advising him not to touch or agitate his wounds whatsoever. 

“Their only purpose is to grief pirates that come here... They’re not very strong, but their speed is formidable and they can cloak their presences.” 

He’s back on the ship. Usopp is arguing with Luffy and Robin is talking to Sanji about the shadow people near the stern, just above where Zoro had chosen to take a nap. Everything is the same except the fact that Nami’s in Chopper’s makeshift hospital room, and to Zoro’s knowledge, hasn’t woken up yet. 

God, he needs booze. 

It takes a bit for Zoro to will himself to move, and when he does he stands from his spot, his still bloodied swords smacking against the wall he was leaned against. Earlier he had a mind to change and wipe off his skin, but his swords still held the evidence of battle. 

Zoro makes his way to the kitchen where he knows Sanji keeps the beer, opening one of the large cupboards to snag his favourite kind. 

Instead of peace and quiet like he was hoping for, he hears familiar footsteps and the kitchen door close. He’d expected this the moment he locked eyes with Sanji in the clearing hours earlier.

“So,” the cook speaks up, and Zoro turns to see him taking a cigarette out of his box, using a lighter to flick it into life. He leans against the door he just closed, gaze focused on the beer Zoro has with disdain. “Mind telling me what happened back there?”

He breathes in the nicotine, letting out a breath before his visible eye finally settles on Zoro himself, a fire in them that he recognizes. 

“Because if I was there, Nami sure as hell wouldn’t have gotten hurt.” 

Zoro closes the cupboard, tempted to ignore Sanji completely and head up to the crow’s nest. He’s not in the mood for one of their daily squabbles. 

However, Sanji’s words do spark a bout of irritation in Zoro, and instead of admitting defeat, Zoro answers: “I had no choice.” 

“No choice...?” Sanji questions, and he kicks off of the door, taking steps closer to Zoro. “You had _no choice _but to let Nami get _stabbed_ in the side? Do you even hear yourself?” 

“It was the best option for our survival.” 

“What about us?” Sanji raises his voice, pointing at himself, cigarette held between his fingers, “What happened to that undying trust you always say you have in your crew mates?”

Zoro winces, and then he recognizes that this isn’t an ordinary fight. There’s something deeper to it—none of the usual insults of hair colour and directional sense coming into play. It’s unfair, because he doesn’t like how Sanji sees through him so easily—as if he’d been there when Zoro had hesitated earlier, wondering if the Strawhats were going to arrive in time or not. 

“This was different. If I didn’t—“

“You say it’s different, but you’ve done this so many times,” Sanji says, masking the important words with a tone of casualty. Zoro’s about to counter his words but Sanji keeps going, a look of warning in his eyes. “First time I saw you, you almost died taking on the strongest swordsman in the world by yourself. With that same wound you basically kill yourself fighting some shitty fishmen at Arlong Park. Next you’re nearly cutting off your feet, and then Thriller Bark—shit, when you took all of that by yourself when I was _right there_. What’s with you?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Zoro finally gets to speak, “I’m still here.” 

“Yeah, you’re still here, but what if one day you’re _not_?” The end of Sanji’s sentence reveals a sliver of the nearly unnoticeable bout of sadness, almost worry, and Zoro can’t shake the nerves running through him.

Give him swords and a million enemies and he’ll survive. Give him Sanji and feelings and he’ll die on spot. 

“We’ll figure it out when we get there,” Zoro answers, knowing that the words will only anger Sanji further. 

“It’ll be too late by then, you fucking marimo! And this time—this time, you risked someone  _ else _ , too.” 

“Nami is still alive,” Zoro states, sure of his answer even if she still hasn’t woken up yet. “She got hurt but she’s still alive.” 

“You only ever _care_ about the end results,” Sanji finally loses the last bit of control he has, exasperatedly expressing himself with the bitter tone in his voice. “Does the process really not matter to you? Just because you win in the end doesn’t mean you _win_. You’re always willing to let go of so much to ‘win’ that you’re actually _losing_.” 

“Does that even matter?” Zoro asks, baffled and confused with Sanji’s metaphoric talk. He even feels offended, taking Sanji’s words as the man saying that his achievements are never really achievements. 

“It matters. It matters and you _know_ it. You never leave a fight without getting hurt—it’s as if you don’t care if you have to die to win. That sort of attitude is what’s really going to ruin you—not some strong opponent, not Mihawk—but your method of throwing everything away.” 

The words strike something deep within Zoro, a problem that he’d noticed but never acknowledged, and he loses his words. “You’re only saying this because it’s _Nami_ that got hurt—because it’s a woman. Put any other male crew member in that bed and you wouldn’t be talking all righteously to me right now.” 

Sanji’s eyes widen and Zoro can see how much affect his words have on the cook, and he knows it’s either because Sanji feels as equally offended, or he’s disbelieving that Zoro would ever say those words. It takes him a moment to say anything, his mouth open but apparently unable to form words.

“I can’t believe you,” Sanji eventually says, and there’s betrayal in his eyes that shouldn’t make Zoro feel as bad as he does. “Honestly, just—“ Sanji pauses, putting the abandoned stick of cancer between his lips again, puffing out a breath a second later. “Go ahead and keep killing yourself to win at the battle of life,” he turns and wrenches open the door, clearly finished with the fight, “See if I’ll care then, since I only apparently care about _women_.”

The slam of the kitchen door signals the end of their argument, and Zoro doesn’t know what to do with the wrenching feeling in his heart, sitting down onto the bench of the table in thought.

Sanji and Zoro fight all the time, but why does Zoro feel like after this fight, they might actually hate each other? 

Or at least, Sanji will hate him.

It doesn’t sit right with him. 

-

Zoro’s never been good at feelings. 

All he does is push them to the back of his mind; meditate them away or work out until he can’t remember what was bothering him in the first place. He’d somehow come to the conclusion that to be the best, he couldn’t let emotions deter him in his path. 

He didn’t know where that mindset had formed, but it must’ve been some time shortly after he’d decided to become a bounty hunter, when he killed for the first time. He was only ruthless now because he’d been exposed to killing and death so early on. 

The walls he’d decidedly built only grew with his first defeat by Mihawk, when he’d realized that he wasn’t  _ enough_—that it would be the hardest thing in the world to be enough. And then Sabaody, where he felt complete fear overtake him when Luffy told them to run. The two years he spent after that moment trying to get over that feeling and build up his walls stronger, _stronger_, until they rivalled material even he couldn’t cut. 

Those moments... that process, the whole thing that Zoro went through. Sanji had said things about how it mattered more than the end result. 

He was here now.

Did the journey matter to him? 

Zoro thought about it for a long time; thought about just his feelings, his worries, his fears, his hopes and most importantly his dreams. He didn’t spend his days blocking them out like usual, and instead tried to sort through them and understand them. It was difficult when he barely understood the feelings himself, but he never backed down from a challenge. 

He considered what Sanji said, and started to realize that it actually did matter how he got here. After all, though he wouldn’t be the same person as he was now, if he could’ve saved Kuina and ended up still  here , he’d do it in a heartbeat. The end results would be the same, but the journey would be so different. Zoro did wonder if it would have even been possible to have his skills now and end up on this ship without the journey he’d lived through, but figured that someone out there had done it. Someone out there didn’t experience the pain and loss that he had, but was most likely equally as strong as him. 

He felt different, by the end of the entire process. As if he’d finally caught something that had for the longest time been dangling just shy of his reach. Of course, he still didn’t completely understand everything he was feeling, but it was different now that he was actually trying to. 

The sun is setting when Zoro leaves the crow’s nest, and it’d been two days since he’s fought with Sanji. Nami had woken up on the night of the fight, and Zoro remembers feeling a weird sort of guilt settle in him when Nami still thanked him for saving her even when he let her get hurt. She had smiled at him and everyone patted him on the back, resulting in an angry Chopper who told everyone to stop touching Zoro’s injured body. 

That moment was what Zoro referred back to when he thought about why Sanji was so upset by his words. Each of his crew mates were important to him, and if anyone told Zoro he preferred one over the other, he would also want to beat something to a pulp. Or in Sanji’s case, avoid him like he was the plague. 

Zoro winces when the cuts in his torso sting as he jumps down from crow’s nest, standing at the bottom with one hand on what he presumes to be the deepest cut, mind wandering to how he’d mend whatever rift he’d created between him and Sanji. 

The lights in the kitchen are on, adding another layer of light to the already orange and pink deck, courtesy of the sun setting right behind the kitchen. The strawhats are up to their own business, Nami most likely taking a bath if Brook’s yell and the sound of lightning is any indication. He also hears Chopper’s shouts of joy in regards to bubbles, and the sound of screws and machinery coming from Franky’s work room, most likely mixed with Usopp’s own inventions. Robin makes no noise in her room whatsoever, but Zoro always has a feeling she’s watching him with her moving eyes. He knows where to look if he wants to find Luffy, having already felt his presence sitting on the head of the Sunny. 

The swordsman continues to watch the light in the kitchen, seeing a faint shadow hustle and bustle inside. He can imagine Sanji humming a tune under his breath through the little muffle his cigarette would give him, hands working deftly on the clean up and preparation for tomorrow morning. Zoro remembers all the times he’s sat in the kitchen after everyone’s left, watching Sanji’s back as the man washes the dishes and complains that Zoro isn’t helping when he’s still there. Sometimes he’d join Sanji, knocking shoulders and teasing the man by almost dropping dishes he recognized as expensive. The second the last dish was cleaned, they’d always burst into fights, receiving either a whack of sheathed sword on the side or a kick to the face. When he didn’t join Sanji, their discussion would eventually taper off into silence, with just the sound of running water and the scrub of sponge against porcelain. Sometimes it was a mix of both, where they both cleaned in silence, fingers brushing as they passed plates and bowls. After moments like those, Sanji liked to kiss him, rough and slightly wet fingers on his cheek as he guided Zoro’s mouth to his own. 

They never talked about it. They never talked about anything in that topic, actually. And Zoro’s starting to realize that it’s because he’s always answering in deadpan, emotionless ways whenever Sanji brings up anything in regards to his feelings. It’s probably his fault that they both can’t decipher what those kisses mean to each other. 

It’s that thought that forces Zoro to finally make up his mind, knowing that now is the time to... apologize. 

It might be the second time he’s ever truly apologized to someone—second only to when he called Kuina fat. 

He walks so cautiously to the kitchen door that even he couldn’t hear his own steps, hand landing on the doorknob. After contemplating whether or not he should burst through it like he’d normally do or knock like he’s suddenly deeming as needed, he figures that this whole situation isn’t normal. In fact it’s the furthest thing from normal, so it’s only appropriate that he treats it like it is. 

Zoro knocks, listening as the quiet clattering of dishes pauses for a second, before he hears Sanji ask:

“Robin? Come in.” 

The green-haired man knows that only Robin would ever knock on a door before entering, because the rest of them are absolute idiots with no sense of privacy. He kind of feels bad that Sanji’s gonna receive a shock when he sees him instead of his goddess. 

The clinking of dishes continues and that’s when Zoro opens the door, finally walking with some sound again. Sanji visibly freezes when he registers the noise of Zoro’s heavy boots hitting the floor. 

Usually, Zoro waits for Sanji to speak first. The blond would do it anyway, always starting fights with him at any chance that he could. But now, Zoro knows that it’s him approaching Sanji, not the other way around. 

“Hey,” Zoro greets, closing the door behind him. 

It’s obvious that Sanji is contemplating whether or not he should answer Zoro, but the swordsman knows that he’s too polite to flat out ignore him. 

“Hey,” Sanji returns the greeting, saying nothing more. 

Zoro wants to get straight to the point. He knows that him and Sanji could barely get through a day without fighting in normal times, so in situations like this where the tension in the air is so thick he could probably feel it with his hand, he knows anything minor can start a fight. A big one, at that. 

“I’m not good at thinking,” Zoro decides to say, obviously shocking Sanji to some extent, because he stops cleaning to fully listen. He figures he should explain to Sanji why he thinks he’s the way he is, so he continues with: “All I’ve ever really done is fight. And in fighting there’s always a correct answer. What move would beat my opponent the fastest, what move would keep me from getting my head chopped off. It’s all instincts from that point on.” 

Zoro takes a moment, and then he leans back against the wall next to the door, watching as Sanji turns off the water and dries his hands, still not facing him. 

“It’s different, when I have to deal with things like feelings.” 

Sanji doesn’t say anything even when Zoro expects him to, still facing the conversation with his back. The swordsman traces the outline of that back with his eyes, taking a few moments before he talks again. 

“Look, I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” Zoro states, starting the actual apology, “I got angry that everything you were saying is right. I don’t ever think about what I’m actually doing when I need to win a fight.” His gaze falls to the floor and his hand instinctively lands on Wado, thumb brushing against the strings wrapped on its handle. “I’m sorry that I said you didn’t care.

“I know you care about all of us. Me included. I just—I’ve never had to care about other people and now that I have the whole crew... I don’t know what to do.”

“Trust us,” Sanji finally speaks up, turning to look at Zoro. 

“I do—“

“With not only _our_ lives,” he starts to walk towards Zoro, pressing a finger to the swordsman’s chest seconds later. “But with yours as well.” 

Zoro opens his mouth and then closes it, thinking about what Sanji says. 

When Sanji notices that Zoro won’t say anything, he continues. “...I don’t want to see you covered in blood all the time. Or you half dead, trying to take on the world yourself.” His gaze falls from Zoro’s eyes to his torso, where bandages still wrap him even under his haramaki. “You might not care—you might be fine getting split open and having your heart crushed by any other enemy, but I can’t...” Sanji’s fingers reach up, brushing the beginnings of the bandages. Zoro keeps his eyes on his face, gaze moving from his one revealed eye to his lips, taking in the fact that Sanji’s showing him, plain as day, his vulnerable side. “I don’t want to see you like that. I care about you.” 

The next few seconds are silent from both sides, the only sound being the little _plip plops_ from the leaky faucet Sanji regularly complained about. The window outside sends in bright orange from the last few moments of day, where the sun becomes pinched between the horizon and the darkening sky. Zoro feels warm—perhaps from the colour resembling that of fire, or perhaps because of the cook, who is closer than he remembered. 

And then it just clicks in his mind.

The things he had and still want to protect and cherish—his crew, Kuina—he _is_ that something for Sanji. Sanji wants to protect him. Sanji wants him safe, alive, and _with_ him, just like how Zoro wants all the same for him. It feels weird to Zoro; knowing that there’s someone who wants to protect him, especially after always believing that he’d be doing all the protecting. 

Zoro doesn’t know how to respond to Sanji. To such an open confession of care and love. He doesn’t know what he can do to repay those words, but he feels reassured, with Sanji’s anxious movements and unsure gaze that locks onto Zoro’s again. It consoles him that he’s not the only one who feels as if he’s wading through grass taller than he can see—where the route is unknown and the uncertainty of every rustle of green overwhelms him.

“Say something, mosshead,” Sanji mutters, and Zoro notices that while he’d been thinking, the cook’s fingers had started fiddling with the holes in his haramaki that he had yet to ask Nami to repair, face turning red. It’s a lovely colour that blends in with the sunset, and Zoro hates being a poetic loser but hell, so many things have happened that even _he_ can admit that Sanji’s the fire currently raging in his heart. 

It might just be that he’d figured out what those kisses between them meant for him. 

His fingers slip over Sanji’s still twiddling ones, bringing the cook’s hand up to his face so that Sanji focuses on him. “Can I kiss you?” Zoro asks, and then Sanji’s eyes widen at the surprising question. “Not just for fun,” Zoro clarifies, “Not because I feel as if I owe you something,” he continues, knowing that if he ever wanted to solve the mystery between him and Sanji, he’d have to voice all his thoughts, “And not for no reason. I _want_ to kiss _you_.” 

The colour that Zoro was admiring seconds ago deepens until Sanji resembles the tomatoes in his stews, and because they‘re both being as honest as possible with each other, Sanji mumbles: “I want to, too.”

He takes the invitation, letting Sanji’s hand rest on his shoulder as his own slides to the back of the blond’s neck, pulling him in to press their lips together. 

The moment Sanji relaxes into it, thoughts and memories about the cook flood through Zoro’s mind all in one go. The first time they made eye contact at the Baratie. Their first argument at Arlong Park. Their first fight together, against Arlong himself. Sanji calling him an idiot when he nearly tried to cut off his feet. Alabasta, Sanji as Mr. Prince. Sanji yelling at him whenever he steals the booze in the kitchen. Kicking him awake, giving him a good fight whenever he feels restless, finding him after dinner to give him the leftovers, running fingers through his hair when his head lays on his lap under the sun—kissing him after dinner, as he takes his naps, before they separate on adventures, hand grasping his shirt— 

Zoro pulls away, forehead falling onto Sanji’s shoulder. He feels almost winded because—_shit_, because if there’s one thing he knows about the whole mess that is his _feelings_, it’s that he _wants_ whatever it is he has with Sanji. He loves every second of it; of their fights and their moments of silence and desperation. He never wants it to end. 

He realizes that somewhere, somehow, he’s always known this. He’s always known that he wants to keep whatever him and Sanji have—maybe even take it a step further, or else why did he try so hard to make it up to the man after fighting with him? The problem was and is his uncertainty. His worry about the  _end results_.  He didn’t want it to end with Sanji pushing him away, so he left the whole thing in a cloud of mystery for Sanji to deal with himself. But now... 

Why do end results even matter if he never wants things to end?

It’s so glaringly obvious, why thoughts of Sanji always squeezed up his heart and made it hard for him to breathe. These feelings had been trapped inside for who knows how long—how is Zoro supposed to know exactly when Sanji became something more to him?—so long that of course it would hurt. 

And they were all coming out at once. 

“I like you,” Zoro blurts out, and his arms wrap around Sanji’s waist to hug him, face digging more into the crook of Sanji’s neck; a way to comfort himself as well as avoid Sanji’s reaction. “I _like_ you, Sanji.”

There’s a pause where Sanji does nothing, and then the blond mutters a _fuck_, and Zoro feels the cook hug him back, twice as hard. 

“I feel so ungentlemanly right now,” Sanji states, as if that even mattered now. “But I like you too, you bastard. And I was supposed to say it first.” 

Zoro smiles to himself, his arms automatically squeezing tighter in response to Sanji’s words. 

Sanji likes him.

Apparently, he’s been liking him for a while, if the mention of Sanji planning to say it is any indication of that. 

Zoro feels his heart clench—in a good way. 

“Heh,” he laughs, “I beat you to it.” 

“Consider it the only time you actually beat me in something.” 

He scoffs, but registers the fact that he’s still holding Sanji tight. 

_End results my ass_, Zoro thinks to his past self. 

He can’t see himself caring if, _right now_, he can hold Sanji like this. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave some kudos and comments (especially these! ya girl uwu’s every time someone comments) if you enjoyed it even 0.02%. Thank you for reading and I hope I achieved my goal of making people love Canon Zosan


End file.
